Bail Organa - Blog Posts

All those Lando/Clones wips look oh so awesome. But Lando/Cody & Fox/Bail takes the cake

Lando and Bail are both massively underappreciated and them getting to show off their brilliance makes me so happy.

Ahsoka and Rex go to Tatooine

Ahsoka gets pointed to Tatooine about two years after the Empire rises. Bail is vague about it, but tells her she’ll find Someone She’s Looking For if she goes. Ahsoka brings Rex because reasons. Bail intended for her to find Obi-Wan, because he’s heard about training bonds and one time Obi-Wan mentioned Ahsoka had formed a minor one with him, but he doesn’t know enough about the Force to realize she’d be drawn directly to Luke instead.

So one day, Beru and Owen just open the door, toddler in hand, to see an exhausted, distraught former Jedi a good decade their junior on the step, with an clone soldier, eyes fixed on Luke and looking like she’s about to cry.

For a particularly high level of drama, this wasn’t planned, and Bail had only told her that she could Find Allies on Tatooine if she ended up in the absolute worst possible situation (she is pretty much the only person he felt deserved to know there were allies on Tatooine at all), and what actually happens is that Ahsoka passes out like two seconds after the door opens and Rex is left holding the bag of “how the fuck do I explain the thing.”

Rex gains a bit of favor by explaining about the chip in his head after Owen demands an explanation because last he heard, the clones had turned on the Jedi on the Emperor’s orders, and Beru and Owen have enough knowledge of slavery (and Beru’s family has been freeing people for so many generations) that the story of what happened during O66 on Mandalore immediately wins Rex some points, at least enough for someone to go get Ben.

This is the point at which I admit that this was partially driven by me thinking about one of those “Cody finds/is found by Obi-Wan on Tatooine, gets de-chipped, they end up Husbands” AUs and me really wanting post-O66 Ahsoka crying on Obi-Wan while he awkwardly explains to the Lars family that this girl is Basically His Daughter

Probably while Ahsoka’s passed out in his lap.

Also I want that dramatic moment of Owen telling Obi-Wan that someone showed up “looking for Jedi” but not really explaining much, just enough for Obi-Wan to panic and jump on a speeder with Cody in full armor and with a blaster because Owen doesn’t seem worried enough for it to be imperials but what if and then he shows up and instead it’s Ahsoka, exhausted and injured and unconscious, but it’s his grandpadawan.

He freezes when he sees her, almost doesn’t even parse that Rex is there until the man starts talking, and then he backpedals, grabs Cody from outside where he’s helping Owen secure the speeder, and shoves him into the building because Brothers.

(In Owen’s defense, he had a vague idea that there were millions of clones and had no reason to assume these two in particular would know each other.)

There’s a Keldabe kiss with some tears that everyone later denies happened, and Obi-Wan just goes over to sit with Ahsoka and push some healing energy into her body until she feels well enough to wake up. Luke toddles in and basically just gets passed around between Beru and Owen and Obi-Wan. He gives Owen and Beru an abridged explanation of how they all know each other and how Jedi families work, which leads to Beru declaring that if Ahsoka was Anakin’s adopted family, then she’s family to the rest of them, too, by Tatooine standards. And since Rex is a brother to Obi-Wan’s husband–

“Your WHAT?” Rex demands.

“Husband, vod'ika, keep up.”

Anyway, everyone’s family somehow but the important part is reuniting clones and having the disaster lineage crying on each other because I have seen those screenshots where Ahsoka canonically refers to Obi-Wan as her adoptive father when talking about him to strangers post-O66 and sure that’s arguably just her reframing to fit the conversation and her audience, but also. Like. That’s Her Dad.

Ezra and Fulcrum’s Wacky Adventure

Ezra’s attempt to save Ahsoka on Malachor by fucking around with space-time goes wonky, and the two of them end up in the first year of TCW… with Vader in pursuit.

“You’re Ahsoka… from the future?”

“Sure am, Skyguy.”

“And that’s your padawan.”

“A friend’s padawan. His master died recently, and I’m keeping an eye on him until we figure something out.”

“Right, right… and, uh, mister tall, Dark, and horrifying?”

“Oh, that’s future you.”

“…”

“Yeah, Palpatine’s a Sith Lord and he’s been grooming you for a decade. Shit’s fucked. Anyway, get ready to jump, Vader’s gaining on us.”

I just have this mental image of hyper-competent “I am no Jedi” Fulcrum leading 20yo Anakin and angstiest ever Ezra on a merry ride called “avoid Vader before he kills us all.”

Keep reading

Han is all “there’s to much Vader in him,” without mentioning that there is too much Vader in Leia too. 

Like, Bail Organa, bless his poor poor soul, tried to politician the Vader out of her. He tried SO FUCKING HARD. 

But the fact that she abandoned politics to be a General in the Resistance says a lot about her similarities to Anakin Skywalker. 

Okay, but Plo Koon trying to play match maker for his troops.

He does it mainly to tease the Wolf pack but also deep down Plo is such a romantic sap. Besides, it’s not like there’s any rules against him helping his troops find love. So anytime he sees an interaction that’s a little more than friendly between one of the Wolf pack and someone he starts to tease them.

“Do you fancy anyone, Sinker?”

“Wha-No!”

“What about the mechanic who you were speaking to in the hangar yesterday? They seemed rather keen of you.”

“General, please stop.”

Or

“Were you flirting with the medic, Wolffe?”

“Of course not, sir.”

“Then that isn’t their number that you’re currently holding?”

“I-er-It’s purely for medical purposes!”

“I see.”

Plo telling embarrassing stories to each of the Wolf pack’s crushes when he finally meets them. Like how Sinker got his head stuck that one time, or when Comet tasered himself in training, and how Wolffe called Plo Koon by the wrong name for the first week of being assigned to him, etc. Just Plo being a dad who wants his boys to be happy but also wants to cause them as much distress along the way as he can.

all dads in star wars can be ranked on a scale from mando (best) to brendol hux (worst) and that’s a fact

Star “She’s royalty, I'm just a boy” Wars

This frame from the Clone Wars episode “Senate Murders” is gold.

“We heard you talking shit.”

Promise of Spring

Bail invites Obi-Wan to take a break from post-war rebuilding efforts to celebrate Alderaan's first day of spring. Written for Fandom Empire Prompt Tables 2024 - Prompt: "Spring Equinox" and Star Wars: All Types of Love Week - Prompt: "Philia" and StarWars100 - Prompt: "Peace"

Read on AO3

Bail waited patiently as the ramp extended from the ship and the door opened. Obi-Wan emerged, smiling and arms spread wide as he approached Bail.

“I know it’s midsummer on Coruscant,” Bail said as he returned the hug. “But I’m glad you could make it for Alderaan’s First of Spring celebration.”

“As am I,” Obi-Wan said. “Though I can’t say I’ve been on Coruscant much lately.”

“Recovery efforts going well, then? I haven’t seen you since the project on Malastare.”

“As well as they can be,” he said. “It takes far longer to rebuild than to destroy, I’m afraid. Your efforts in the Senate are appreciated, but funding can only do so much.”

Bail understood. He’d been on site on plenty of post-war efforts too, and seen the ruined cities and ravaged countrysides; the grief and unease and distrust, all the worse for the knowledge that each side had been betrayed from the onset.

“Come,” Bail said. “We can discuss work later. Today is a day of celebration, and I know you’ll enjoy the festivities.”

Obi-Wan listened attentively as Bail took him around the city and explained the traditions of their celebration of spring. The climate of Alderaan was, of course, such that the beginning of spring still looked much like winter, and the cold air bit at their faces as they walked, offset by the warmth of sharing in celebration with his people and with his friend.

But though the day still resembled winter, the promise of those warmer, vibrant days was evident throughout in the vast displays of traditional artwork and craftsmanship, depicting flowers and rain and sunshine, and in the lively dances and the street performances, in the laughter and singing.

A reminder that they had survived the terrible, cold winter, and that life would grow again.

i love comparing the fake stories that each twin was told

(commission info // tip jar!)

Obi-Wan is Cal's father this, Obi-Wan is Korkie's father that, blah blah blah -

Hot Take: Cal and Korkie are twins.

never mess with the team organa

Mon Mothma : Your friend... the Jedi.

Bail Organa : He served me well during the Clone Wars and has lived in hiding since the Emperor's purge. Yes, I will send for him.

Mon Mothma : You will need someone you can trust.

Bail Organa : I would trust her with my life.

Loving these ideas! Maul, Obi-Wan, and Mace would all be great options... but we're probably not gonna know who it is for a while (at least I hope not, let the show run for a good while, please!😥).

Y’all listen up I think I’m on to something

Everyone has been speculating about who our mysterious cloaked figure is in ep six of TBB. There’s been some pretty good guesses but I think I can narrow it down some more.

First of all, Rafa addressed the figure as “him”, which means that our mystery man is, in fact, a man. I’m very sorry to disappoint y’all but I think that rules out Ahsoka.

Rafa assumed that all clones worked for the Empire now, and almost seemed to hold a bit of malcontent towards them. Her ignorance seems to disprove that she could be working with Rex, because he is also a rogue clone and Rafa would know better if they were working together.

Rex is a soldier. If he wanted that tactical droid he would have done it himself. Plus, my man wears skirts, not cloaks. So yeah it’s probably not Rex either *sad and horny noises*

But do you know who would send two inexperienced and ill-equipped civilians to get something he wouldn’t want to get himself? Maul. I’m not the only one saying this. Consider: 1) He isn’t very fond of the Empire. 2) The music, Rafa’s facial expression… it all seemed a little sinister. Just a little. 3) Rafa and Trace have a history with working for people without asking questions or thinking about consequences (though tbh they seemed to have learned from past mistakes + Ahsoka). And 4) Maul loves to wear cloaks that conceal his face until it is time for a dramatic reveal.

Summary: I know it’s probably not Maul but I want it to be so I am grasping at straws

Some people have said it could be Bail, and yeah he seems like an obvious choice. Too obvious. Star Wars throws Bail Organa cameos out like Halloween candy. He’s in literally everything. So though it sounds mean, mystery man’s identity seem too dramatic and important for Bail (harsh). Or I’m just overthinking.

My personal prediction? It’s Obi Wan. Cloak. I’m surprised no one has suggested him yet. He fits all the boxes. Fighting against the Empire. Could know Trace and Rafa through Ahsoka. Pursuing Separatists intel for the right reason. Had to send people to get the intel for him because he’s in hiding or babysitting or both. Would def want to know about some rogue clones.

Anyways this post took up way too much of my time and your feed but I just wanted to say that unfortunately I don’t think out mystery man is Ahsoka or Rex. But that doesn’t mean we won’t see them soon!

I also could be Mace Win- aahh I need to stop I’m going to bed

The Bad Batch Season 2 Episode 7 & 8 Review and Discussion - The Consequences of Truth

MASSIVE SPOILER WARNING!

First and foremost, these two episodes were absolutely fantastic from start to finish. It had the same energy that peek Clone Wars had. And the politics. The politics of the clones and the military are some of the best moments to me, as they flesh out the world that our beloved characters live in.

Riyo Chuchi is the absolute goat. End of discussion. I’m so glad that someone is finally stepping up to fight for the clones and their rights, even though it may inevitably be all for nothing. Nevertheless, it was so good to see her appear in TBB, and I love what she was standing for. How the clones have been treated has always broken my heart. They have always deserved so much more and while I know not much will come out of this, it’s good to know that there are people who see them and recognize what they did for the galaxy. Also, it was really nice to see Bail. I wish we got a bit more of him but I understand that perhaps he wants to lay low and not have a target on his back, especially when considering his position in all of this (being the adoptive father of Leia, spearheading the pre-rebellion, etc.)

Seeing the truth be revealed in regards to what really happened to Tipoca City, while short lived, was a victory to me. The dramatic irony that was Rampart saying he was “just following orders,” in the same way that the clones are “just following orders,” was masterful. And to hammer it home, Palpatine saying that “if the clones blindly follow orders” then they need to usher in a new military; thus the introduction of the storm troopers, That stung. Yet, I cannot say I’m necessarily surprised since we are all aware by now of how well Palpatine plays his cards. I am devastated, regardless, at how easy it was for him to spin it around in his favour. 

The final scenes of episode 8 was heartbreaking to say the least. I didn’t expect it at all and I’m honestly really concerned for Echo now that he’s decided to stay with Rex. As we have all speculated, there has to be some sort of event that will push Rex over the edge, enough for him to want to stop fighting. I fear that the possibility of Echo dying has increased because of his decision to stay with Rex and moreover, the chances that his death being the breaking point for Rex has increased. I really hope that isn’t the case though, I don’t think I’d ever recover from that. Plus, It would feel a bit cheap to kill him AGAIN.

To continue from that, the bad batch’s numbers are growing eerily thin. They are now down to four 3.5 members (no offence to Omega, love her character, but let’s be real for a second, she’s not a soldier, she’s a child). I don’t really know what this could mean for them in the long run. All I know is that the family dynamic is breaking down and they may need to start considering their place in all of this; perhaps joining the fight alongside Rex and Echo. 

Overall, these two episodes were on par, if not even better, than episode three. They really gave viewers the insight into the function of the galaxy and its politics at this point in the timeline. Moreover, the tragedy of the clones has been especially highlighted here and it really cements their place in the galaxy. 10/10.

because of how light travels, at certain distances, leia can probably still see alderaan pre-explosion, and i think that's heartbreaking and ruined my night

 Bail and Breha Organa with baby Leia!  This is a formal petition for more Breha content. 

Me just now realizing the implications of a man whose people were massacred by space NAZIS saying a JEWISH phrase…

inspo

sits on the floor and thinks about how the twins' extreme force sensitivity probably connected them before they even knew each other

(support me on kofi!)

sits on the floor and thinks about how the twins' extreme force sensitivity probably connected them before they even knew each other

(support me on kofi!)

Nah. You made it better

Bail Organa is literally for Star Wars what Nick Fury is for Marvel and Charlie for Charlie's Angels and I'm so up for it.

Man brought Mon Mothma, Riyo Chuchi, Ahsoka Tano (aka Vader's former Padawan) and Obi Wan Kenobi (aka Vader's former Master) and many other others to fight with the Rebelion under the noses of the Empire without them not even suspecting. Deserves more recognition.

Commander Fox taken off personal security duties for Senators after he leans in real close to Bail Organa's mic and says "I think clones should vote" and watches the Senate assembly implode

YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME

DELETED SCENE — THE DELEGATION OF 2,000 from STAR WARS: REVENGE OF THE SITH (2005), dir. George Lucas

ANDOR | 2.09

“Rules of Engagement”

Commander Neyo x Senator Reader

⸻

You weren’t what the Senate expected.

You laughed too loud, danced too hard, and didn’t mind a drink before a midnight vote. You were also scarily good at passing legislation with a hangover.

Neyo didn’t know what to do with you.

He’d been assigned to guard you temporarily—something about threats, instability, blah blah. You didn’t care. What mattered was that he had a cool speeder, a gravelly voice, and those wraparound tactical visors that made your stomach flutter in ways you couldn’t explain.

He followed you everywhere.

And you made sure to give him a show.

“So what’s your opinion on martinis, Commander?” you asked one night, leaning across the bar table.

“I don’t drink.”

“Of course you don’t. You’ve got that whole ‘I eat war for breakfast’ look.”

He didn’t respond. Just stared. Probably judging you. Or calculating your odds of surviving the dance floor in six-inch heels.

“Come on,” you grinned, tipping your glass back. “You’re always so serious. Loosen up. Life’s short.”

“Life’s valuable,” he said flatly. “Especially yours. You should treat it that way.”

You pouted. “Are you flirting with me or threatening me?”

“Neither,” he replied. “Just trying to keep you alive.”

“How noble.”

That night, you dragged him to The Blue Nova—a Senate-frequented lounge pulsing with lights and low beats. Senators Chuchi and Mon Mothma were already there, nursing cocktails and giggling over some poor intern’s fashion sense.

Neyo stood rigid by the wall, arms crossed, helmet on. You danced.

You danced like no one was watching—except Neyo definitely was. You saw the subtle shift in his stance every time someone got too close to you. Every time someone brushed your waist, he tensed. When one particularly bold diplomat tried to pull you close, Neyo was there in seconds.

“She’s done dancing,” he said coolly.

You smirked as the man scurried off.

“Jealous?” you teased.

“No.”

“You hesitated.”

“I hesitated to answer a ridiculous question.”

You walked up, lips close to his helmet, breath warm.

“I think you like the chaos, Commander,” you whispered. “You just don’t know how to handle it.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Then, to your complete shock—he took his helmet off.

Face sharp. Stern. Battle-scarred. Beautiful.

“I handle a lot of things,” he said softly. “I don’t make a habit of chasing Senators around nightclubs.”

“And yet…”

He stepped closer. Close enough for you to feel the war in him, vibrating under the skin.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said.

You grinned. “Good.”

He didn’t kiss you—not yet. He wasn’t the type. But his gloved hand brushed yours beneath the table, quiet and electric.

And later, when you slipped into your speeder with him and leaned your head on his shoulder, he let you.

Because even soldiers like Neyo had a weakness for bright lights, fast music—and senators who didn’t play by the rules.

⸻

You woke up on your office couch, face down, wearing one boot and someone else’s scarf.

Your stomach roiled.

There was the taste of shame, spice liquor, and possibly fried nuna wings coating your mouth like regret.

“Ungh,” you groaned, clutching your head as if it were a ticking thermal detonator. Your presentation to the Senate chamber was in—oh kriff—thirty-two minutes.

You stumbled toward the refresher, tripped over Chuchi’s shawl, and made it to the toilet just in time to vomit your dignity into oblivion.

Twenty minutes later you were brushing your teeth with one hand, swiping through datapads with the other, your hair tied back in a half-dried bun, steam curling around your face like battlefield smoke.

You were dying.

And still—you were determined to win.

A sharp knock came at the door.

“Senator,” Commander Neyo’s voice rang, low and deadpan as ever.

You staggered to the entry and opened it slightly, eyes bloodshot, breath minty, skin blotchy.

He blinked.

“You look—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you rasped, voice hoarse.

He nodded. “Fair.”

He stepped in, glancing around the wreckage—empty drink glasses, a senate-issue heel stuck in a potted plant, a half-written speech blinking on your datapad.

Neyo exhaled slowly through his nose. “We need to go soon.”

You collapsed onto your vanity. “Then fetch the war paint, Commander.”

To his mild horror, you started multitasking like a woman possessed. Concealer. Hair curler. Eyeliner sharper than your tongue. Hydration drops. A stim tab. Robes pressed. Shoes polished.

By the time you swept out of the room, datapad in hand, a vision in deep indigo velvet with subtle shimmer at the cuffs, you looked flawless.

Not a trace of the hungover banshee who almost passed out in the shower. Not a single clue that you’d had one foot in the grave twenty minutes ago.

Neyo stared at you in stunned silence as the turbolift doors opened.

“What?” you asked innocently, breezing past.

“When I first saw you,” he said, voice tight. “You were pale. Trembling. Sweating.”

“I was warmed up.”

He blinked. “You threw up.”

“And now I’m ready to lead a planetary reform discussion.”

He said nothing, but you could feel the tension behind his visor. Not irritation—something else.

Awe, maybe. Or confusion. Or grudging admiration.

He escorted you into the Senate chamber, back straight, flanking you like a shadow. You entered to hushed murmurs from other senators. You took the platform.

Lights brightened. All eyes on you.

You smiled.

Then you spoke.

Commanding. Persuasive. Engaged. Like you hadn’t danced barefoot on a bar counter hours earlier. Like your liver wasn’t currently filing for emancipation.

When it ended, with soft applause and nods of agreement, you stepped down coolly. Neyo followed close behind.

In the corridor, he finally said:

“You’re… something else.”

You smirked. “Are you flirting or threatening me?”

He almost smiled. Almost.

“Neither,” he muttered. “Just trying to keep up.”

⸻

The hovercar ride back to your apartment was silent.

You leaned against the window, sunglasses on despite the overcast Coruscant sky, hand gripping a hydration tablet like it owed you money. Neyo sat beside you, unnervingly still, as usual.

“You pulled it off,” he said finally, breaking the silence.

You didn’t even open your eyes. “Barely. I think I lost consciousness for a moment during Taa’s rebuttal.”

“I noticed,” he replied calmly. “Your left eye twitched in morse code.”

“Did I say ‘sustainable galactic reform through bipartisan unity’?”

“Yes.”

“Impressive.”

“Also a lie.”

You smiled weakly. “I’m not a miracle worker. Just a hot mess with good timing.”

When the speeder landed, Neyo helped you out like a proper guard—but the moment the lift doors closed in your apartment building, your knees buckled slightly.

“Stars,” you groaned, pulling off your shoes like they were weapons.

Neyo caught your elbow, steadying you with practiced hands. You didn’t look at him—couldn’t. Your head was pounding too hard, your bones liquifying.

He didn’t say anything. Just supported you as you limped down the hallway.

Your apartment was clean—thanks to your overpaid droid—but still smelled faintly of scented oil, warm fabrics, and overpriced wine.

The door shut behind you.

And you dropped your datapad like a dying soldier discarding a blaster.

Without preamble, you dragged yourself to your bed and belly-flopped face-first into it with the grace of a crashed starship.

“Urrrghhh,” you groaned into your sheets. “Tell the Senate I died nobly.”

Neyo stood in the doorway for a long second.

Then—

“You forgot to remove your hairpins,” he said.

You made a muffled whining sound.

“You’ll stab yourself.”

“Let the assassination succeed,” you moaned.

But he moved closer. Carefully. Gently.

And began removing the decorative pins from your hair.

One by one.

You stayed perfectly still, secretly stunned. He was… delicate. Surprising.

His gloved fingers swept your hair back from your temple, warm through the fabric, steady and sure.

“Better,” he said softly.

You peeked up at him, mascara smudged, lips dry, eyes bloodshot.

“You’re being weirdly sweet.”

“I’m not sweet.”

“Well, you’re weird then.”

A long pause. He didn’t move away.

Then he added, almost reluctantly, “You did well today.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “That almost sounded like a compliment, Commander.”

He hesitated.

Then, “Rest. I’ll stand guard.”

Your heart thudded softly against your ribs.

You didn’t respond. Just let yourself finally sleep, Neyo’s presence a silent shadow at your door.

You knew he wouldn’t leave.

And that—for once—felt like safety.

⸻

It was past 0200 when you stirred.

The sheets tangled around your legs like a battlefield, your head finally calm but your throat dry as sand. You padded barefoot across the apartment, wincing at the cold floor and the slight ache still lingering behind your eyes.

You found Neyo right where you expected him.

Standing just outside your bedroom door.

Helmet on. Blaster slung. Spine straight.

Unmoving.

“Have you been standing there this whole time?” you asked, voice low and raspy.

“Yes.”

You blinked at him. “Kriff, Neyo. At least sit. I’m not a senator worth slipping a disc over.”

“Your safety doesn’t rest well on upholstery.”

You snorted softly, leaning against the doorframe. “Still all thorns and durasteel, huh?”

“I’m consistent.”

“Irritatingly so.”

You were about to tease him more when you noticed something shift behind him—just past the window’s faint reflection.

Your eyes snapped to it. Too fast.

Neyo noticed.

Then everything happened at once.

A flash of movement—glass shattering—a stun dart zipping past your ear—

And Neyo tackled you to the ground.

The world blurred. You hit the floor, tucked under his armored weight as a blaster bolt sizzled into the wall where your head had been.

Another shot. Close.

Neyo rolled off you and into cover in one swift, practiced movement. “Stay down!”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

A figure dropped through the busted window—a sleek, masked bounty hunter, compact and fast. They moved like they’d done this a hundred times.

They hadn’t met Neyo before.

He opened fire, short, brutal bursts. Not flashy. Efficient.

The bounty hunter ducked behind a column, tossing a flash charge—blinding light filled the apartment, and you covered your head as the sound cracked through your skull.

Then silence.

Then Neyo’s voice, low, deadly. “You made a mistake.”

You peeked up just in time to see him lunge—shoulder first—into the attacker, sending them crashing through your dining table.

The fight was brutal, close-range. Fists. Elbows. Armor slamming against furniture.

You watched through wide eyes, heart hammering in your ribs.

The bounty hunter went down with a hard grunt—stunned and unconscious before they even hit the floor.

Smoke. Dust. Silence.

Neyo stood over the wreckage, breathing hard, visor glinting in the broken light.

You slowly got up from behind the couch, staring at your shattered window, your ruined table, your torn carpet… and the one thing that somehow remained miraculously untouched:

Your liquor cabinet.

You limped over.

From the wreckage and the chaos, one lonely, very expensive bottle sat upright and proud, like a survivor of war.

You picked it up reverently, uncorked it, and took a long swig.

Then you held it out to Neyo.

“Drink?” you offered hoarsely.

He stared at you for a moment—visor unreadable. Then, slowly, he removed his helmet, setting it on the countertop with a heavy thud.

He took the bottle from your hand.

Took a sip.

Didn’t even flinch.

You whistled. “Tougher than I thought.”

He handed it back. “You don’t know the half of it.”

You grinned, despite the mess around you, your pulse still racing.

“Well,” you said, leaning against the ruined wall. “If this is going to be a regular occurrence, I’m going to need better windows. And more of that bottle.”

He glanced down at the unconscious bounty hunter, then back at you.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

That shouldn’t have made your breath catch.

But it did.

⸻

You were sprawled on your couch with a blanket around your shoulders like a dethroned monarch, cradling a caf mug and trying not to move too much.

Neyo stood a few meters away, helmet back on, deep in conversation with a squad of Coruscant Guard troopers who had secured the perimeter and taken the unconscious bounty hunter into custody. One of them was talking into a datapad, another bagging evidence.

Your apartment looked like a warzone.

Scorch marks on the walls. Smashed glass. Your poor dining table in pieces. A chair impaled by a vibroblade. And somewhere, inexplicably, a boot had ended up in the chandelier.

The door buzzed.

You groaned.

“Tell them I’m dead.”

Neyo didn’t even turn.

The door buzzed again.

You hissed and dragged yourself up with the grace of a dying tooka.

The door slid open.

“Holy kriff—what happened in here?” gasped Senator Chuchi, her eyes wide, sunglasses on despite the dim lighting.

Behind her, Bail Organa and Mon Mothma followed in, blinking like the lights offended them.

Bail took one look around and sighed deeply. “Did you throw a party after the party?”

Riyo covered her mouth. “Oh stars, is that blood?”

“No,” you rasped, sipping caf. “It’s the soul of my décor, leaking out.”

Neyo, still conversing with the Guard, ignored the comment.

Riyo winced, kneeling beside the splintered dining table. “This was antique…”

“So was my liver,” you muttered.

Another Guard trooper approached Neyo. “Sir, we’ve confirmed the bounty was hired off-world. Probably just a scare tactic—or someone testing security.”

“They tested the wrong kriffing senator,” you said from the couch, raising your caf like a battle flag.

Bail crossed his arms. “You’re not staying here.”

“I can’t just vanish in the middle of a political firestorm. I have three meetings today and a vote on trade tariffs.”

“You nearly died.”

“I nearly died hot, Bail. There’s a difference.”

He looked to Neyo. “Can you keep her alive through all this?”

Neyo gave a single nod. “Yes.”

You snorted. “He’s too stubborn to let me die. It’d mess with his stats.”

The Guard filed out slowly, leaving behind scorched walls, broken decor, and the lingering smell of smoke and citrus-scented panic.

Your friends started cleaning instinctively—stacking plates, lifting fallen cushions.

Mon handed you the bottle from last night. “This survived too.”

You stared at it.

Then smiled.

“Guess I’ll call that a diplomatic win.”

⸻

The assassination attempt made the front page of every news feed.

“Assault in the Upper Rings: Senator Survives Bounty Attack in Her Apartment.”

“Corruption? Retaliation? Speculation Rises After Attack on Popular Senator.”

“Bounty Hunter Subdued by Marshall Commander in Daring Apartment Ambush.”

Your face was everywhere—mid-speech, mid-stride, mid-bloody hangover.

They didn’t know that part, of course. But you did.

In the wake of it all, security protocols were rewritten overnight. A flurry of emergency Senate meetings, security panels, and sharp-toothed reporters hunting soundbites. You barely slept. When you did, it was light. Restless. Searching for a presence that wasn’t there.

Neyo had gone back to barracks immediately after the incident. De-briefed. Filed reports. Gave statements.

And now, word had come down.

He was being reassigned.

⸻

The knock on your door was unnecessary.

You already knew it was him.

You opened the door slowly—draped in a robe, caf in hand, rings under your eyes that even the finest Coruscanti powder couldn’t hide.

Neyo stood there in full armor, helmet tucked under one arm.

“I got the memo,” you said before he could speak.

He gave a short nod. “Senate security is shifting to full internal protocol. Coruscant Guard, under Commander Thorn, will oversee protection from now on.”

“Ironic, considering you’re the reason I’m not dead.”

“My orders weren’t to stay,” he said plainly.

You leaned against the doorframe, studying him. His armor had new scuffs. He was cleaned, pressed, regulation-ready… but the quiet between you hummed with something unsaid.

“You going back to the front?” you asked, already knowing.

He nodded.

You stared at him, your throat tight.

“I’m not one for speeches, Neyo. Or long goodbyes. Or… feelings. But I’m pissed.”

That caught his attention.

“Why?”

“Because you’re walking away like none of this mattered. Like I’m just another senator on your route. Another mission. And you know what? I wasn’t. Not to you.”

His eyes dropped for a moment.

Then rose again—meeting yours.

“Of all my deployments,” he said slowly, carefully, like the words were foreign, “this was the first time I didn’t feel like I was wasting time.”

Your breath hitched.

“I didn’t know how to say that,” he added. “Until now.”

You laughed, wet and quiet. “You’ve got a strange way of being soft.”

“I don’t do soft,” he replied, mouth tugging at the corner in what might have been—might have been—a smile.

“Right,” you murmured. “Just war and discipline and smashing bounty hunters into my furniture.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“If it were up to me,” he said, “I’d stay.”

Your heart stung.

“I know.”

Silence.

Then, on instinct—or maybe defiance—you reached up, fingers brushing his cheek just beside the helmet line. He didn’t move.

And for the briefest second, he leaned into your touch.

Then pulled away.

Duty won again.

“Goodbye, Senator.”

You stood in the doorway long after the lift closed behind him.

Outside, a new Guard squad took position at your apartment.

Inside, you poured the last of the bottle from the night before into a glass.

And toasted to what almost was.